


Not In The Car

by Euterpein, hikaru9, Lurlur, MovesLikeBucky, Tarek_giverofcookies



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Scene: Church in London 1941 (Good Omens), Rated E for Extreme Hat Violence, Rules Lawyer Aziraphale, Switching, fucking in the bentley, they think they'll have great sex and so they do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29809947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaru9/pseuds/hikaru9, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarek_giverofcookies/pseuds/Tarek_giverofcookies
Summary: Aziraphale has his “oh no, he’s meeting all my standards” moment in the rubble of the church. Now he realises that he’s horny for Crowley, he makes his move in the Bentley during the offered “lift home”. Crowley destroys 1 (one) hat. Refuses to be fucked in his car because of the capacity for mess. Our lad rules lawyers around this by creatively fucking against the rules.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 226
Collections: In The Spirit Of The Thing, Ineffable First Times





	Not In The Car

**Author's Note:**

> A collaboration that started many months ago but was too good to abandon.  
> If I forgot you, let me know. If you don't want to be part of this, just remove yourself. No hard feelings.  
> \- Lurlur

“Lift home?” Crowley says, already walking away.

Aziraphale can’t follow, not immediately. His heart is pounding in a way he’s never felt before and entirely unrelated to the peril he’s just barely avoided. It’s soaring, performing complicated loops around his chest.

It’s love.

He loves Crowley, beyond all reason or doubt.

This thing he hasn’t wanted to name for so long is now lodged in his throat like a rock. He loves Crowley. Crowley loves him. It’s a lot to take in all at once.

“Come  _ on _ , Aziraphale,” Crowley calls from the pavement.

Thankfully, his feet manage to find the cure to his inertia and begin to navigate their way over the rubble. He slips once, at the last few feet and Crowley is there, reaching a hand for him, offering him stability in a way that Aziraphale longs for.

“It’s an interesting colour on you, angel,” Crowley says as Aziraphale steps safely onto the pavement, his mind consumed by the unexpected contact.

“Sorry, what?” Aziraphale can’t parse Crowley’s meaning, especially not through the haze of realisation he’s stuck in.

“The hat, well, the band anyway. Interesting colour choice for you. You don’t usually go brassy.”

“Brassy?” That doesn’t sound like a compliment.

Crowley waves a hand in front of Aziraphale’s face as they walk. “Did the explosion rattle your featherbrain or something?”

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale says, swallowing thickly and looking for a different place to put his thoughts. He finds it as they approach a big black and grey car, shining and gleaming in the firelight. “Oh! Is this your car?”

“Yea, this is her,” Crowley says, running a hand along the sleek roof. Caressing it as a lover might, possessive, like something precious and wanted. It shouldn’t make him jealous but the way the light shifts around Crowley’s hands, the way his fingers coast gently, not quite pressing, it ignites sparks through Aziraphale’s spine and he shivers.

Crowley turns back to him, looking for all the world like Cary Grant. Or trying to, at least. Leaning with a practised nonchalance against the bonnet, hip cocked to one side, as he opens the passenger door.

He’s frustratingly at ease like this, comfortable against the metal. He was an awkward, gangly mess a few minutes ago in the now-demolished church. It’s a little unfair that he’s changed so acutely in the presence of a car, of all things. He sprawls, simultaneously elegant and imposing. Perhaps he’s seen one too many thrillers, one too many films with Grant or Bogart or Ryan; men who sprawled and owned their surroundings. Aziraphale knows that Crowley is hyperaware of his demonic presence and essence. He could own his surroundings if he tried hard enough.

He’s not trying now. Here, in the stark lack of light save for a burning church, he’s painfully and inadvertently sincere.

“It’s very nice, smooth lines, very glossy,” Aziraphale says as he dithers, not sure he quite wants to get in the car yet.

“I like the curves of it,” Crowley says in a low voice. Aziraphale looks at him, sees his eyes just above the edge of his glasses, sees the way his hand clenches and unclenches where it rests on top of the door.

“The curves?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow, deciding whether these waters are worth testing, worth trying to wade into. If there’s any water to be had. Aziraphale takes a deep breath and dives in. “I was rather thinking-” he says slowly, running two fingers along the edge of the door, watching Crowley’s eyes follow them; watching his adam’s apple bob as he swallows “-that the sleek lines of it give it a very, um, tantalizing silhouette.”

“Tantalizing?” Crowley sounds confused. “It’s a car, not a dessert.”

Aziraphale purses his lips and steps up to the car. Holding up the bag of books, he looks for a way to access the back seat.

“You sure you didn’t hit your head?” Crowley asks, scowling his concern as he takes the bag from Aziraphale’s hands and sets it on the back bench. “You’re acting more dizzy than usual.”

A dam inside Aziraphale has burst and the pressure is flooding out. If Crowley notices how his hands are trembling as he climbs into the passenger seat, he’s kind enough not to mention it.

Aziraphale largely manages to hold himself together until Crowley is in the driving seat, closing the door and dropping his hat into his lap.

“Still at the bookshop, I take it?” Crowley asks, prompting Aziraphale into the realisation that he hasn’t said anything in some time.

He wets his lips, feeling Crowley’s eyes on him as he searches for the right words. All he needs to do is confirm the destination, maybe express his thanks for any one of the services that Crowley has rendered tonight. Simple.

“I love you,” he says instead.

It’s so simple, so easy to say. There’s a storied past between them, secrets and truths both left unacknowledged. By all rights, this should feel momentous and huge, and it does, but more than that it’s the easiest sentence Aziraphale has uttered all evening. Maybe ever.

Crowley’s mouth drops open. Seconds pass but he seems incapable of speech. 

“I love you, I’m _ in love _ with you, and I have been for some time,” Aziraphale barrels on, no longer in control of the words spilling from him. “I know you love me, too, I don’t need you to say it. Though, Crowley, if I may, I would like to kiss you.”

For a moment, Crowley appears incapable of any movement beside opening and closing his mouth like a nutcracker. Aziraphale waits, watching him through lowered eyelashes, knowing that he won’t move an inch until Crowley gives the OK. 

An eternity or seven seconds later, Crowley manages to nod and choke out an affirmative sounding collection of consonants as his hand reaches up to slide off his sunglasses. It’s all Aziraphale needs. He surges forward, his hands cupping Crowley’s face as their lips meet for the first time.

Crowley tenses against him, pulling back ever so slightly. Fearing he has overstepped, Aziraphale draws away slowly, lessening the contact by degrees. This seems to shock Crowley into more positive action, melting him into Aziraphale’s kiss and chasing his withdrawing lips. Dimly, Aziraphale hears the soft click of Crowley’s sunglasses being set down somewhere to his left.

Reassured, Aziraphale kisses Crowley with a carefully guarded passion. A fierce press of lips becomes a soft rain of kisses against Crowley’s mouth, gently asking for permission to deepen this exploration. In a flash of daring, Aziraphale touches the tip of his tongue to Crowley’s bottom lip in a feather-light sweep. The effect is immediate as Crowley opens to Aziraphale’s kiss, allowing him to glut himself on the sensations of Crowley.

The taste of his mouth is electricity and wine, both thrilling and familiar. Aziraphale is shocked by how natural it feels, how right, to be kissing Crowley in this way. He knows in this instant that he’ll never have enough and yet he wants so much more.

As hungry as he is, he still knows that Crowley has been taken by surprise. Aziraphale can’t steamroll his way to what he wants, not if he cares at all about Crowley’s happiness. And, Lord help him, he does, he really does.

“Is this alright, Crowley?” Aziraphale asks, pulling away just enough to give him room to speak.

“Yes,” Crowley says, leaning in for another kiss. “Yesss.”

Laughing, Aziraphale glances down, feeling self-conscious.

“Crowley!” he gasps, “Your hat!”

Between Crowley’s claw-like fingers, his lovely hat has been twisted and crumpled beyond recognition. Whatever tension and anxiety Crowley has been feeling has clearly been diverted into a wanton act of hat destruction.

Crowley follows his gaze down to the jumble of fine black felt crushed into disarray between his own hands. He stares at it for a moment, as though he’s unable to really see it, then carefully withdraws his long fingers.

“I know a decent hatter that could probably put it to rights, if you’d like,” Aziraphale suggests.

Crowley gives him a look. He tosses the poor rumpled hat into the back seat, utterly careless, and leans back towards Aziraphale. “ _ Sod _ the hat,” he says, vehemently, and brings their lips together once more. 

Those lovely, long, sharp fingers come up to caress the sides of Aziraphale’s face as their kisses turn heated once again. They’re so achingly gentle as Crowley cradles him between his palms and Aziraphale burns with it, utterly lost in the tenderness and heat threatening to overwhelm him entirely. 

Feeling rather emboldened, he skims his hands up over the lapels of Crowley’s jacket and digs his thumbs into the wool near his shoulders, not quite sure whether he wants to push the jacket off or use it to drag Crowley even closer. 

“Crowley,” he murmurs between sipping kisses, pushing impatiently at the fabric, “Would you please?”

Crowley makes an encouraging sort of noise and draws his hands away from Aziraphale’s face to shuffle out of the offending article, their lips never parting in the process. Aziraphale’s glad for it; now that they’re here, now that he knows the way Crowley’s lips feel against his own and the way his breath hitches at every little touch, the thought of pulling away makes him want to cling on even tighter. 

The second that Crowley’s out of his jacket, his hands are back on Aziraphale. He runs them up Aziraphale’s sides over his shirt, making him shiver, and tugs insistently until his jacket has also been tossed haphazardly into the back seat. He reaches up for the bowtie at Aziraphale’s throat, thumbing at the delicate silk.

Aziraphale puts a hand over Crowley’s, stilling his deft movements. He pulls back. 

“Something wrong, angel?”

Aziraphale shakes his head, trying to reassure him before he can actually form the words he needs to say. “No, my dear, nothing at all. I just--I’m not sure that if we keep going that I’ll be able to--I want you, Crowley.  _ All _ of you. Can I--that is, do you--?”

“Yes,” Crowley breathes, then again, practically growling, “ _ Yes. _ ” He kisses Aziraphale again with a fierceness he seems to have been holding back before, tearing at Aziraphale’s bowtie in a way he might have objected to, had he not been being snogged to within an inch of his life. 

Aziraphale trails kisses and nipping bites down the long line of Crowley’s throat, hooking his finger into his silk necktie and pulling it loose slowly with more care than had been shown to his own. He can feel Crowley’s pulse quicken under his lips and he drinks in the sensation. 

He pulls the necktie free completely, starting on the buttons of Crowley’s shirt, placing a kiss on each inch of skin he uncovers. Aziraphale pauses to swipe his teeth over a sharp collarbone as Crowley’s breath hitches.

“Wait, Aziraphale,” Crowley says against his lips. Aziraphale pulls back, worried he’s misunderstood. Crowley’s hand goes back to the steering wheel, his other to the gear shift. “We should wait until we get to the bookshop.”

“To… to the bookshop?” Aziraphale is more than a bit dumbfounded. “ _ Why _ ?”

“Angel,” Crowley says, leaning in and kissing him quickly, “angel, I have wanted this forever but you are  _ not _ going to fuck me in my car. It’s too messy.”

“Too...messy?” Aziraphale asks with a raised eyebrow. He has to focus on something to keep himself from losing his entire composure at Crowley’s phrasing. At imagining Crowley writhing underneath his hands, imagining him taking his cock. He’s suddenly more than a bit impatient. “Surely you can just...miracle things out,” he gestures vaguely in the air trying to find words that are lost on him, his brain still too drunk on the taste of Crowley’s lips and the feel of his skin to form them properly, “after… well…  _ after _ ?”

“Aziraphale, I’m a demon, not an animal,” Crowley says with a shaky laugh, “besides  _ I’d _ always know what happened here. Still be there, underneath.”

Aziraphale stares as Crowley checks his mirrors.  _ You are not fucking me in my car. _ He lets the words rattle around a bit, lets them sink in. He lets his mind wander, come up with a few ideas. He might be an angel, but he’s an angel that has subsisted on bending the rules. For his hedonistic tendencies, for their Arrangement, for many things. 

“Of course, darling.” Aziraphale lets the new endearment drip from his mouth like honey as he leans into Crowley’s space, pressing him up against the driver’s side door. Even with his sunglasses to hide it, Aziraphale can see the twitch in the lines around Crowley’s eyes that betray his nerves. Aziraphale became fluent in the language of Crowley’s laugh lines and crow’s feet aeons ago, the demon might as well be an open book.

Aziraphale kisses him again, deeply and passionately, one soft hand on Crowley’s waist inching its way further back… further back… further back… 

He finds what he’s searching for, gripping the shining silver handle and pushing it down. Crowley tumbles out of his  _ precious and pristine car _ directly to the pavement, grabbing Aziraphale by the shirt and pulling him along as he yelps.

Aziraphale has just enough wherewithal to cradle the back of Crowley’s head, to prevent it from hitting the pavement, but that’s about all that is preserved in their fall from the leather. Crowley groans a little and curses a lot when they land. Two pairs of tangled legs stay propped inside the car while their owners are relegated to the outside world. Aziraphale’s torso and hips press pleasantly against Crowley’s, which gives Aziraphale a good indication of Crowley’s invested interest in the proceedings, sudden ejection notwithstanding.

Oh, perhaps  _ ejection  _ isn’t the most helpful word to think now.

Or, perhaps it is.

“What the  _ hell  _ angel?” Crowley asks, breath seemingly still absent since his words sound as if they’re being forced out of him.

“Well,” Aziraphale raises himself onto his elbows. From the angle above, Crowley is a fetching sight; ruddied and readied from their kissing. He looks only slightly annoyed at the sudden change in scenery. He’s such a good sport, Crowley. “We’re not  _ in  _ the car anymore.”

Crowley blinks, which Aziraphale loves to see. Crowley is a little cute when confused. “You’re…oh, Satan.” Crowley narrows his eyes after that, which Aziraphale loves just as much. Crowley pouts, sometimes, when he realizes there’s been deviancy not of his own doing. Come to think, Aziraphale thinks he loves all of Crowley’s expressions. It’s just nice to enumerate and describe them freely now. “You’re  _ mad,  _ you know that, right?"

Aziraphale grins. He dives down for another quick kiss, just to wipe that pout right off his face. “Mad for you, my love,” he whispers against Crowley’s lips, and something about him must be addictive, must have him hooked because Aziraphale can’t stop himself from kissing him again. They start frenetic and messy, then progress into slow and languid; a gentle press of lips and the fire of shared breath. He could do this forever, Aziraphale realizes. He wants more, wants other things, too, but he could lay here on the asphalt snogging Crowley for centuries and be perfectly content with his life.

Then Crowley shifts to get more comfortable on the ground, and their hips press rather sharply together.

Well. They can always come back to the kissing, Aziraphale supposes.

He pushes his hips down into Crowley’s with intent this time, chasing the sparking sensation it sets off in his belly with all the shamelessness of a lifelong hedonist. Crowley hisses and arches his back, the sound is sweet music to Aziraphale’s delighted ears, and presses at Aziraphale’s hips to try and entice him to do it again. It doesn’t take much enticing. He does it again, and again, Crowley writhing and panting beneath him, not so much kissing anymore as much as moaning unabashedly into each others’ mouths.

It occurs to Aziraphale that, as fetching as Crowley looks right now, laid out beneath him on the moon-drenched asphalt, he should really be spread out somewhere  _ special _ , somewhere  _ comfortable _ . Aziraphale’s own sheets spring to mind. His red hair would look so beautiful against the linen, his flushed skin... Aziraphale wants to  _ worship  _ him, to lay him on an altar and show him just how wonderful he is, how loved.

Crowley cries out at a particularly delicious movement of Aziraphale’s hips. One of his legs kicks wildly and slams into the doorframe of the car with a metallic  _ thwump _ , reminding Aziraphale that he has a rather perfect altar for fulfilling his fantasies within immediate reach. 

With a not-insignificant amount of reluctance, he stills the movement of his hips and pulls himself up until he’s propped above his demon on his palms. He chuckles as Crowley tries to follow him up, whining at the loss, his eyes glassy and nearly feverish. 

“Wha’s--angel, why--?”

“Don’t worry, my love,” Aziraphale reassures him, “I’m merely transferring us somewhere a bit more comfortable.” He carefully disentangles his legs from Crowley’s and from the seat belt that had somehow gotten wrapped around an ankle and climbs to his feet. A glance down at the state of his suit causes him to grimace slightly, but he swiftly decides he has more important things to attend to at this particular moment. He reaches down and scoops a still rather dazed Crowley into his arms, laughing at the startled and entirely un-demonic yelp it earns him, beaming back at Crowley’s answering glare. Demon firmly secured, he turns to carry him towards the front of the Bentley.

It’s the work of a moment to deposit Crowley on the bonnet of the car, guiding his feet to brace against the running board and wheel arch for support. For a moment, he looks like he might object to his placement, so Aziraphale sweetens him with another kiss until Crowley is relaxed and pliant once more.

“There you go, my dear, isn’t that better?” Aziraphale asks as he strokes up Crowley’s thighs. He has to balance with one foot on the running boars to be able to reach Crowley’s lips but, seeing as he intends to redirect his attention very soon, it’s not an insurmountable hardship.

“Better than the ground, yeah,” Crowley agrees, leaning forward for another kiss.

Aziraphale holds him at bay with one hand splayed across his chest, denying Crowley his goal until he begins to whine. Instead of giving in, Aziraphale begins to unbutton the remainder of Crowley’s shirt, revealing pale skin, pink nipples, and sparse dark hair that trails down his chest and stomach, leading into his trousers.

Aziraphale’s mouth waters with want as he takes in the sight. Crowley has frozen under his hands, awaiting his next instruction. 

“Gorgeous,” Aziraphale whispers, awestruck.

Leaning in, Aziraphale presses a series of kisses into Crowley’s exposed skin. He’s warm and alive under Aziraphale’s touch, the blood thrumming through his veins is as loud as the shallow breaths he’s taking and Aziraphale wants to experience it all, to drink it in like the rarest libation. His tongue darts out to flick over a nipple and Crowley smothers a laugh. He’s ticklish, it seems. Aziraphale files that interesting discovery away for later and lets his kisses drift lower still.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says in a tone that’s one part query and one part warning. 

By way of answer, Aziraphale lifts his hands to Crowley’s belt and begins to tug it loose as his lips rain kisses over Crowley’s abdomen. It occurs to Aziraphale that this night will present as a series of bridges that they have never before crossed and will never be able to uncross. They will never be able to go back to what they were before. Aziraphale has tasted the forbidden fruit of Crowley’s lips, has kissed love into the skin of Crowley’s throat, there can be no denying what they are to each other now.

“Is this alright?” Aziraphale asks, his fingers deftly unfastening the buttons at Crowley’s waist, “I will stop at merely a word.”

“Don’t,” Crowley says, leaning in until he’s perilously close to falling off the car, “don’t stop, please.” He kisses Aziraphale with a passion that removes all doubt regarding his willingness.

Thus encouraged, Aziraphale strokes the bulge of Crowley’s erection through the fine wool of his trousers and earns a most delicious shuddering sigh from his beloved. He reaches in and feels the first stroke of velvety skin against his fingertips. 

Love, lust, and desire have long since pushed out doubt and fear, leaving no room in Aziraphale’s thoughts for anything but giving pleasure to the perfect creature before him. With more care than expertise, he draws out Crowley’s cock into the cool night air and squeezes it experimentally. The answering gasp is encouraging and so Aziraphale begins to stroke along the length.

“Tell me what you like, darling,” he says, looking up at Crowley’s slack expression, “help me make it good for you.”

He sees the way Crowley swallows, the bob of his Adam’s apple in the moonlight telling him so much even before Crowley speaks. The feeling of Crowley’s arousal in his hand is incredible; the skin is so soft and yet it seems to have a core of steel. It’s beautiful, Aziraphale thinks, just like the rest of his demon.

“You’re doing well,” Crowley croaks with one hand hovering over his mouth, ready to clamp down on any stray noises.

Aziraphale gives a happy hum of satisfaction and works at varying his speed and the strength of his grip, testing for the motions that make Crowley lose the most control.

“You are so beautiful like this, Crowley, I love to see you enjoying something I am able to give.”

Crowley appears incapable of answering in words, his hand is pressed against his mouth and his breath is coming in shallow pants. All because of Aziraphale’s hand.

Well, if he likes a single hand this much, Aziraphale thinks smugly, he’s going to love what’s next.

With nothing more than a lick of his lips as a warning, Aziraphale lowers his head and takes the tip of Crowley’s cock into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck! Angel!” Crowley cries out, his muffling hand flying down to bury in Aziraphale’s hair.

Aziraphale waits a moment, wondering if Crowley means to pull him away. His hand doesn’t push or pull, it just rests in Aziraphale’s hair as a grounding weight. Tentatively, Aziraphale strokes his tongue against Crowley’s cockhead and draws him a little deeper.

The taste is unlike anything that Aziraphale has tasted before. It’s sour and salty but not at all unpleasant. It’s intimate and it’s  _ Crowley _ , nothing from Crowley could ever be bad. The sounds that Crowley is making are incomprehensible but undeniably positive. Aziraphale has no finesse or skill to draw upon but Crowley seems to be lost in raptures of pleasure regardless. 

This is exactly the sort of worship that Crowley deserves: selfless pleasure delivered with pure love and adoration. Aziraphale has no thoughts of his own pleasure. How can he when God’s greatest creation is gasping and squirming with carnal delight at the unskilled touch of his hands and tongue?

Aziraphale sets a rhythm of movement with his hand and mouth, sliding up and down the shaft of Crowley’s cock, paying particular attention to the head which seems to make Crowley lose all sense.

“Angel, I’m--  _ oh fuck _ , I’m close,” Crowley gasps after a gratifyingly short interval. Aziraphale knows that he is not skilled at this act, this is his first attempt after all, but that Crowley appears to be reaching his peak so soon can only speak of his intense attraction. Aziraphale responds by suckling on the head a little more firmly.

Crowley makes a strangled noise in his throat and flops back over the bonnet of the car, his serpentine spine keeping him from falling off completely. Immediately after, a thick burst of ejaculate explodes into Aziraphale’s mouth, taking him by surprise.

Aziraphale is familiar enough with the concepts of human sexuality to have expected Crowley’s emission, but, when faced with the actual raptures of his beloved, the matter has managed to quite slip his mind.

Pulses of come flood into Aziraphale’s mouth as Crowley twitches and moans across the bonnet of his car. It’s much like the earlier tastes of Crowley’s cock but stronger and more pleasant. Aziraphale finds that he is quite able to swallow it down and then lap the last drops from Crowley’s softening erection.

“Ah, angel, stop,” Crowley says gently, sitting up to ease Aziraphale away, “I’m all sensitive now.” Before Aziraphale can feel rejected, Crowley chases his lips for a kiss and slides down the side of the car to deposit himself in Aziraphale’s arms. “You’re incredible,” he whispers between kisses.

Aziraphale feels the warmth of a blush creeping over his cheeks as his body reacts to the reality of what he’s just done to earn this praise. He’s far too happy to feel ashamed, though. Love can not ever be wrong and Aziraphale is only acting on his deep, abiding love for Crowley.

“I adore you,” he says, tilting his head as Crowley nudges with his nose so he can kiss Aziraphale’s throat. Crowley’s hands move in the slight space between them, presumably setting himself to rights, but then Aziraphale feels the curl of fingers against his own half-hard cock. “You needn’t feel obliged, you don’t owe me.”

Crowley chuckles into Aziraphale’s neck, his hand still stroking through the fabric of Aziraphale’s trousers.

“I know, that’s not what this is,” he says in a sultry voice, “I’ve wanted you to fuck me for as long as I’ve known what that meant. Thousands of years of wanting you and I can’t seem to wait any longer.” He lifts his head enough to glance around. “I take it we’re safe enough here?”

“We won’t be interrupted if that’s what you’re asking,” Aziraphale says, pressing his hips forward into Crowley’s hand. He can feel Crowley’s smile curving against the skin of his throat and he knows that they are about to bend the rules once more.

Crowley’s deft fingers are soon inside Aziraphale’s trousers and underwear, teasing him with delicate strokes and encouraging his penis to swell and stiffen. The damp warmth of Crowley’s breath against Aziraphale’s throat is almost as arousing as the actions of his hand and Aziraphale finds himself eager to partake in the feast that Crowley is offering.

“I can barely believe this,” Crowley whispers, his forehead pressed into Aziraphale’s shoulder, “it’s like having all my Christmases at once. I want you so much.”

Aziraphale tightens his hold of Crowley’s body, expressing love and devotion and desire in the ways that words can’t express.

“I know, love, so much that you’re going to beg me to fuck you against your car.” Aziraphale makes no attempt to disguise the smirk in his voice. He likes this side of Crowley immensely.

“Satan help me,” Crowley grumbled, his hand never stilling on Aziraphale’s cock, “I am, I’m going to beg.”

At some mutual understanding that neither can explain, they each seek another kiss with their lips meeting tenderly. Aziraphale loses himself in their closeness, the touch of Crowley’s hand, and the taste of his mouth until he’s pressing Crowley against the door of the car with his hips and chest.

“Do it, then,” he urges between fevered kisses. He trails along Crowley’s jaw until he reaches an earlobe that desperately needs to be nibbled.

“Bastard,” Crowley says, managing to move his fist in such a way that makes Aziraphale gasp with pleasure, “Aziraphale, please. Please. Fuck me right here.”

“How can I refuse when you beg so prettily?” Aziraphale says, gently pressing his teeth into Crowley’s neck, “Trousers off, if you please.”

Crowley’s hand releases the fistful of shirt that he’s been clutching between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades and snaps his fingers, making Aziraphale chuckle at his unwillingness to let them be separated. It’s a feeling that Aziraphale is becoming increasingly familiar with and is more than willing to indulge.

He runs his hands down Crowley’s sides until he finds the exposed warm skin beneath his shirttails. There’s so much to explore, so much of Crowley to worship, that Aziraphale almost loses himself in it. A needy grumble from the throat of his beloved brings him back on track soon enough.

Gripping Crowley’s thighs, Aziraphale hoists him up to cling to his waist. Crowley understands quickly enough to withdraw his hand from Aziraphale’s trousers and wrap his arms around the back of Aziraphale’s neck.

“Yessss,” he hisses, delighted, in Aziraphale’s ear, “just like this.”

Aziraphale pins him against the car door so they are pressed together, chest to chest. He wishes, briefly, that he’d thought to remove his own shirt so he might feel Crowley’s skin against him.

It appears that Crowley shares the thought because he plucks at Aziraphale’s collar and the shirt becomes mist, reforming in a neatly folded pile on the roof of the car.

“You clever, beautiful creature,” Aziraphale says, so full of love.

“Please, I can’t wait any more,” says Crowley, no less loving but far more desperate.

Aziraphale expects this to be natural and easy, pleasurable and passionate. Perhaps that’s why, when he reaches between them to align himself, he finds Crowley slick and open for him. And why, when he pushes in, Crowley chokes out a moan that is pure ecstasy. With no prior experience to colour his expectations, Aziraphale buries himself in Crowley’s heat without a single moment of discomfort for either of them.

It’s overwhelming, this closeness and intimacy. The pressure on his cock is so unlike anything he has imagined and all the better for it. Crowley is gasping and clawing at him, trying to hold them as close and tightly together as possible.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Crowley says as soon as he’s able to form words, “I didn’t know, I had no idea. Did you know?”

“That it would feel like this?” Aziraphale asks, surprised to hear how wrecked he sounds already. Crowley nods, his eyes searching Aziraphale’s face for understanding. “No, love. I didn’t know. You are  _ perfect _ .”

Aziraphale gives an experimental rock of his hips and Crowley sobs in pleasure.

“Yes, yes, more. Oh, angel, please do that again.”

Aziraphale could never deny Crowley when he asks so sweetly, so he moves again. His thrusts gain in confidence and strength as Crowley comes apart in his arms. The tight heat that pulses around his cock threatens to end him with every passing second but he refuses to give in, not until he’s given Crowley all he can and more. 

The car is rocking on its suspension from the power of his hips, and Crowley’s legs pull him closer still as he demands endless kisses that Aziraphale is happy to deliver. Pleasure blooms through his body in waves as he approaches a peak that seems as inevitable as it is immense. This is what he was made for: loving Crowley, making love to Crowley.

“My darling, my love,” Aziraphale pants into Crowley’s shoulder, “there is no greater pleasure than you. I-- I can’t hold back much longer.”

Crowley wriggles, subtly changing the angle of Aziraphale’s thrusts, and suddenly everything is electric. 

“Don’t hold back, come for me, angel,” Crowley says in a low, needy voice.

A feeling unlike anything that Aziraphale has ever known explodes from low in his gut. It’s pleasure and release and ecstasy all in one glorious package. His vision goes briefly white with a hundred starbursts and his legs tremble beneath him. It’s everything and more. He knows that if he were joined with any other being in all of creation, it could never feel as brilliant as it does with Crowley.

As Aziraphale comes back to himself, he notices something warm and wet between their bodies. Crowley is limp in his arms, barely holding himself up, and breathing hard.

“Was that as you hoped?” Aziraphale asks, softly smiling at the ruin of a demon in his arms.

“Shut up,” Crowley grouses, “can’t think.”

Aziraphale laughs, fond and exhausted, as he gently withdraws and helps Crowley find his feet. They can’t seem to stop kissing and Aziraphale struggles to find a reason to care. He could be blissfully happy right here, half-naked in the street, if he were only allowed to kiss Crowley forever.

With an almost suppressed shiver, Aziraphale’s priorities instantly realign. He snaps his fingers and reclothes them both, adding a blanket around Crowley’s shoulders just because he can.

“I wasn’t cold,” Crowley says, clutching the blanket anyway.

“Hush, and be grateful that the blanket isn’t tartan.” Aziraphale opens the car door for Crowley and gestures from him to get in. Their jackets, ties, and the destroyed hat still litter the car, proving that the last hour has actually happened.

Aziraphale walks around to the passenger side and lets himself in, settling back into the seat he’d so recently vacated.

“I assume the lift home is still on offer?” he asks.

“Wha-- Wel-- Y’jus-- Bu-- J-j-j, obviously! Did you think I’d leave you on the side of the road after  _ that _ ?” Crowley sounds insulted but also amused. Aziraphale smiles, knowing that everything between them is as it should be.

Crowley starts the car and pulls away from the kerb, his attention fully on driving the car. Aziraphale gets the distinct impression that Crowley has never driven this carefully before. It’s rather touching. 

The silence gives him room to think. 

Aziraphale has always had a complicated relationship with rules. He excels at finding ways around them and, now that Crowley has established a rule regarding the car, Aziraphale finds himself wondering just how flexible that rule might be.

“Here we are,” Crowley says, killing the engine.

Aziraphale looks up to see the darkened front of his bookshop, blacked out and silent. He could invite Crowley in for a drink now, enclose them in the safety and comfort of his home, or he could keep them out here a little longer.

It’s an easy decision.

Aziraphale reaches for Crowley’s cheek and draws him close. His lips are parted and the tip of his tongue briefly touches his lower lip in a clear display of anticipation. The ubiquitous sunglasses are still on the dashboard and Aziraphale can see how Crowley’s gaze darts from his lips to his eyes, telegraphing his desires.

Bringing their lips together, Aziraphale lets his right hand slide further back until his fingers are buried in Crowley’s hair. It’s immensely gratifying, how easily Crowley relinquishes control to Aziraphale. With barely more than a touch, Aziraphale can guide his head and direct the intensity of their kisses.

He can feel how quickly Crowley loses himself in their affection, his hands rising to clutch at the front of Aziraphale’s shirt as if he fears that Aziraphale will pull away and leave him wanting.

Slowly, Aziraphale’s left hand drifts down Crowley’s chest, stroking his shirt with gentle touches until he reaches Crowley’s belt and begins to tug it open again.

“Angel?” Crowley says, pulling away from the kiss ever so slightly.

“No fucking you in the car, I know. I find myself eager to hold you again and far too impatient to wait.” Aziraphale slips his hand into Crowley’s trousers and curls his fingers around the filling erection within.

Crowley makes no move to stop him, instead lifting his hips to ease his trousers down until he’s exposed to mid-thigh. He has such a beautiful cock that Aziraphale finds himself distracted from their kisses by the sight of it sliding through the embrace of his palm. When he looks back up to the face of his most loved friend, he’s surprised and pleased to see that Crowley appears just as hypnotised by the sight.

“I can’t believe that’s your hand,” Crowley says at last. His breath is catching in time with Aziraphale’s strokes, little gasps of pleasure that warm Aziraphale’s very soul. “I-- I should-- let me repay the favour?”

“I told you, this isn’t transactional. There’s nothing to repay, no score to settle. Just pleasure and love. It pleases me to give you pleasure.”

Crowley blushes, flustered. Despite these assurances, he reaches for Aziraphale’s belt and begins to work his way into Aziraphale’s trousers. At a point where Crowley starts to struggle, Aziraphale takes over and pushes his trousers down to his ankles. He kicks off his shoes and lifts his feet free of his trousers and underwear.

As if he were a puppet cut from its strings, Crowley falls forward and buries his face in Aziraphale’s thighs. The sensation of his kisses, nibbles, and licks is far more arousing than Aziraphale had expected. He feels adored and cherished,  _ desired _ in a way he hadn’t known was possible.

Before Crowley can get his mouth on Aziraphale’s cock and Aziraphale loses track of his plan, he tugs Crowley over to his lap and catches his lips in another delicious kiss.

“Do these seats recline?” Aziraphale asks, feigning something close to innocence.

Crowley reaches down and tugs something beside the seat cushion, making the back fall flat and taking Aziraphale with it.

“They do if I want them to,” he says, leaning over Aziraphale. He looks down at their new position and frowns. “I meant what I said, Aziraphale.”

Smiling, Aziraphale parts his legs until Crowley is between his knees. He reaches one hand down to stroke Crowley’s cock and the other up to grasp a handful of his hair.

“I know, I’m following your rules, darling. I won’t fuck you in the car,” he says between feather-light kisses to Crowley’s lips and jaw, “You could fuck me, though.”

Aziraphale lifts his knees to either side of Crowley’s waist, showing just how easy it would be for Crowley to accept the offer. He doesn’t push. He won’t take anything that Crowley doesn’t want to give. This is only a game and it stops being fun as soon as Crowley shows even a moment of reluctance.

“You absolute bastard,” Crowley growls.

He moves quickly, pushing at the backs of Aziraphale’s thighs and lowering himself enough to be able to line his cock up with Aziraphale’s entrance. Reality yet again obliges them with an easy, pleasurable joining. Crowley slides his full length deep into Aziraphale in one steady thrust.

“Oh, heavens,” Aziraphale gasps, entirely unprepared for the overwhelming ecstasy of being filled so completely.

Crowley kisses him silent, huffing shallow breaths through his nose.

“You’ve bent the rules enough for one night, beautiful angel,” he says after the kiss, “no more talk of them.” He gives a meaningful look upwards and Aziraphale knows that he’s not talking about the roof of the car. “This-- This is a lot, though.”

Having been in Crowley’s position so recently, Aziraphale understands exactly how overwhelmed he feels. He strokes through Crowley’s hair and kisses his cheek and shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. There’s just so much love between them. Aziraphale knows that he’s been ignoring this for centuries and his heart aches at the thought of all their missed opportunities. He’ll make up for it in every way that he can.

Eventually, Crowley seems to recover his composure enough to start to move, gently rocking his hips against Aziraphale in search of a rhythm that will have them both seeing stars.

“That’s it, darling,” Aziraphale whispers, surprising himself. He wants to say so much, to see if he can make Crowley blush even as they are joined in this most intimate of ways. “Beautiful, beautiful Crowley, I love you so much.”

It gets easier after the first few.

“You feel incredible inside me.”

“Harder! Fuck me harder, Crowley!”

“Oh! Oh! Yes, right there! Good gracious, yes!”

“You’re so big and hard, you’re perfect and I love you.”

Aziraphale throws his head back, panting hard as Crowley fucks into him. His fingers dig into Crowley’s upper arms as he tries to hold on to this moment and stretch it out as long as possible. 

“Angel,” Crowley whimpers, pressing his forehead against Aziraphale’s chest, “I’m really close. Really, really close.”

A moment later and his strokes stutter. He thrusts forward and buries himself as deep in Aziraphale as he possibly can, trembling and shivering as he climaxes. He’s breathtaking. Aziraphale just watches as Crowley’s whole body clenches and he gulps in air.

The sight of him, undone and close to collapse, sends sparks down Aziraphale’s spine. He reaches for his cock, stiff and neglected between them. It only takes a few tight strokes to push him over his own edge and into bliss. 

Crowley is a soft warmth above him when Aziraphale is capable of rational thought again. He looks partially slumped but Aziraphale can see all the ways that he’s carefully holding his own weight.

“I love you, Aziraphale,” he says once Aziraphale meets his gaze.

Aziraphale beams with delight. He wasn’t expecting to hear those words so soon, but what a gift they are. He kisses Crowley soundly.

“I love you,” Aziraphale says once he’s able. Crowley grins and hides his face in a move so adorable that Aziraphale almost jumps him right there.

“Nightcap?” he offers instead, nodding towards the bookshop.

“And more,” Crowley says, wriggling back into his own seat, “You’ve defiled my car, now I’m going to do unspeakable things in your bookshop.”

Far too delighted at the prospect, Aziraphale wiggles his shoulders and makes quick work of dressing. In grabbing his bag of books from the back seat, he sees the destroyed hat again. Gently, he picks it up and shows Crowley.

“Would you mind awfully if I kept it? A memento of tonight, if you will?” 

Crowley looks startled at the idea but seems to shake it off quickly.

“Go ahead. Now hurry up and get inside. There’s a 140-year-old sofa in there that I’ve been picturing you naked on for, oh, about 140 years.”


End file.
